Painting Love
by softsmiles
Summary: Sydney pays a post-midnight visit to a spirit plagued Adrian. Angst and painting ensue. One-shot.


A/N: I wanted to write this for quite some time, and here we finally are. I had trouble with the pacing and since I decided to write it in first-person, I had minor problems with that too, but I'm generally pleased with the result. I really hope you enjoy this, and, as always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Set post-TIS, around the middle of TFH.

**Disclaimer: Richelle Mead owns the Bloodlines series.**

* * *

"Oh, this can't be happening today," I exclaimed incredulously when I felt the first raindrops on my face.

The few people still wandering the roads at this time of the night hurried past me, seeking shelter under the street shops' awnings. It was obvious that they would be waiting until the sudden rain stopped pouring from the sky and then continue going wherever it was they were going instead of getting soaked. They probably weren't in as much a hurry as I was at that moment.

I mentally cursed myself for not having thought of bringing my ever-present umbrella with me. Adrian and his inconsistency have been rubbing off on me, I thought, although, if I was being honest with myself, not even I could have expected it to start raining, what with us being in the middle of the desert. I couldn't have predicted this particular storm if I'd tried, and, really, the weather forecast was the last thing on my mind after Adrian's post-midnight call.

It had been quiet, the call. He hadn't been frantic or moody. He'd sounded calm. Way too calm for the things he'd said.

"_I... I think I'm losing it, Sage. I feel as if the darkness is creeping up on me. I can almost feel it fraying my mind. I might be going nuts this very moment. I might already have._"

I'd listened to whatever he had to tell me, feeling the lump in my throat, silent all the while. And when I couldn' t take it anymore, when I'd started thinking that maybe this was it, this was the last time I'd ever speak to a sane Adrian-as sane as Adrian could generally be, anyway, but still, the Adrian I knew and loved- I'd hastily hung up the phone, telling him I was coming by.

The decision was easy. The rest, not so much. For one, I'd have to try not to wake up Zoe, who had been sound asleep in her bed so far. I also had to make sure that I didn't get caught while sneaking out of Amberwood and into the night.

I replaced my pajamas with a sensible button-up and a pair of jeans as hurriedly as I could without waking up my sister. I tiptoed around Zoe's bed, which was by the dorm room door, and slowly opened the door, trying to make as low a sound as possible.

It still creaked.

Zoe stirred and I froze in place, not daring to bat an eyelid.

Zoe was a heavy sleeper. I knew she was. I had experienced it firsthand for so many years. I surely couldn't have such bad luck, that the one time I desperately needed to get out unnoticed, my little sister would decide to change all of her sleeping habits at once. I waited for another minute, trying to detect any movement on her part, but she didn't move again and I could hear her deep, even breathing over the rushing of blood in my ears.

I spared another glance behind me, where Zoe was as still as she'd ever be, and then carefully, oh-so-very-carefully, stepped into the hallway. From there, it had been surprisingly easy to sneak out. Kristin and Julia really were serious when they'd showered me with detailed stories about the many ways they'd tried in order to get out of the school in all kinds of ungodly hours. This particular way, which I had considered the safest option, included an unguarded and safely obscured from the night guards' view window and some serious agility skills, the combination of which managed to get me to the ground and out of the school soundly.

After this mini adventure, which had left me tense, stressed and breathless, was finally over, I ran to Latte, got in the car and took the familiar route to Adrian's appartment. I tried to keep the car's speed at reasonable levels, but by the time I parked my car three streets away from his house (standard Alchemists' precaution and safety textbook advice), I was pretty sure I'd overlooked three or four driving laws.

The soft purring of the engine had somehow managed to relax me during my ride here, but now that I was finally where I had been going all along, my previous worries returned reinforced. _What if I'm too late, what if he's already worsened much, how can I help him if he's going insane_?

I forced myself to stop thinking for a bit. I'd get there, I decided, and I'd act according to what state of mind he'd be in. No use exhausting yourself with speculations, the practical part of my brain whispered. I trusted its advice. And when I was two streets away, the raining began.

_It's only normal to forget such a mundane thing as an umbrella at a time like this_, I tried to reason with myself, but I was unable to shake off the feeling of distress this little inconvenience caused me. It made me realize the true weight of the situation. Things were really bad when I started to forget to perform actions that I considered basic. Such as grabbing a damn umbrella before leaving.

I practically ran for the rest of the way until Adrian's appartment. Still, when I got to his front door, I was already soaked to the bone. The clothes I'd quickly put on before leaving now clung to me like a second skin, and I was so cold I was practically shivering.

I stood in front of his closed door, motionless, staring at it, for some moments. After I had finally gotten rid of all stray thoughts flooding my mind and disorienting me from the reason I was here and had gathered as much courage as I could, I raised my hand and knocked four times. Two fast knocks, then two slower ones. Our practiced signal.

The door swung open, revealing Adrian, and my heart gave a funny twist at the sight of him.

He looked so... haunted. His eyes looked glassy and red, as if he'd been crying (a thought so disconcerting that made me want to cry, too) and his hair was a mess, as if he'd ran his hands through it one too many times. His movements looked peculiar. They had an almost dreamy quality, as if he was afraid that if he pressed his fingers too hard on the doorframe, where they now rested, they'd dig right into the wood. _I'm too late, I'm too late, I'm too-_

"Sydney? Is that you?"

Even his voice sounded strange, strained and silent, like he was trying, himself, to understand what he was saying.

"Yes, it's me, of course it's me. Are you okay?"

"Do I seem okay?" he asked me.

He didn't.

He seemed so far from okay that it was very, very hard for me not to break down and give in to the wave of despair that was looming over me. But I didn't, I couldn't, not when he was the one in need of help and comfort.

"Can I come in?" I said instead of answering. The words came out small and careful and a bit frightened, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Please, Adrian, let me in."

He scrutinized my face suspiciously for a moment, obviously trying to wrap his head around the idea of my being there, as if he couldn't quite believe it, coulldn't trust his most basic senses that told him I was there. It broke my heart some more.

After some intense staring on his part and some intense mental praying on mine (what an irony, I thought, to be begging a God who allegedly hated vampires to save one of them), he stepped away from the threshold and motioned for me to come in. I stepped inside quickly, afraid that he might somehow convince himself that I was no more than some sick game spirit was playing on his mind and close his door in my face.

I looked around his living room, taking in the familiar yellow walls and his ugly couch and the impressive TV. The only source of light was a plain floorlamp near the couch, but the weak light it emitted made the shadows longer and darker and overall scarier. I eyed it all in one fast glance, and then turned to look at Adrian again.

He had closed the door and was staring at me , at my eyes, his gaze so focused on them that I felt as if the rest of my body ceased existing altogether. All I could feel was his eyes on mine, gazes locked, passing messages I wasn't sure I understood. Then he spoke.

"You shouldn't have come."

His words stung me, even though I knew he meant well. He wanted me to be safe, and this impromptu midnight trip was screaming risky.

"I couldn't not have come," I shot back. "I had to make sure you were fine."

"I'm not," he said absentmindedly, his voice managing to carry a tone of finality.

The words echoed in my head, urging me to say something comforting or helpful to him. _I'm not, I'm not-_ get a grip, Sydney. Talk to him.

"Is it because of spirit?", I finally asked.

"No, I just thought it would be nice to have a random breakdown in the middle of the night," he snapped.

I flinched at his tone, and he noticed.

"God, I'm sorry, Sage. I didn't mean that to sound so harsh," he said, his voice considerably softer. "Yes, it's spirit. What else? The usual. Whatever my life has become. Darkness and depression and teetering at the edge of sanity each moment of the day-" he clamped his mouth shut, probably realizing that he'd said more than he intended to during his rambling.

There was something truly scary about the way he was speaking-not scary in the sense of me being afraid for my life. More like something simply unnerving, something in his tone that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but made me uncomfortable. Hopelessness, I realized a moment later. He sounded detached and so awfully hopeless. I wanted to help him more than I'd ever wanted anything else before.

I reached out to touch his cheek, needing the comfort of a physical touch, something to help me make sure he was still here, that I wasn't fighting for nothing. He shied away, stepping back immediately, his eyes wary and watching my every movement.

"Adrian. Please. Let me help you."

"You can't," he said with unshakeable confidence. "I won't let you. The darkness... It's too heavy. I will pull you down to the bottom with me. And then none of us will be able to breathe anymore- can't do this to you, Sage, can't, I can't-" He stopped abruptly and looked at me carefully, for the first time since I had arrived. "Why are you shaking?" His eyes took me in fully. "Why are your clothes wet?"

"It's raining outside," I said quietly. "And I forgot to bring my umbrella."

I hadn't even noticed I had been shaking, but once he mentioned it, I realized I was, in fact, freezing. I couldn't care less.

"Oh." He moved closer tentatively. "Maybe - maybe I should give you a shirt of mine." He half-smiled and added as an afterthought, "You know, so that you don't freeze to death or anything."

He still looked like hell, but at least he had a purpose now. Maybe that was what he needed to keep him grounded to reality.

I wrapped my hands around my middle, returned his smile tentatively and nodded.

* * *

His movements as we moved towards his bedroom were erratic, disoriented. He'd take two steps forward, and then he'd stop, turn around and inspect me closely before continuing forward. He'd squint at the empty walls, as if there were shadows waiting to leap at him hiding in the darker nooks. The twenty steps we needed to take in order to get there felt like an eternity riddled with fear and antsiness and turmoil. All the while, his hand was clutching mine tightly, tugging me along. I squeezed his hand in return as we entered the bedroom, as gently as I could. He turned around and lookeed at me once again. There had been a lot of staring going on tonight. I just waited, mentally counting the seconds that were passing.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

"That shirt you were talking about?" I interrupted our staring contest before I could stop myself.

Truth was, his fixed gaze made me extremely uneasy. I always felt uncomfortable and self-conscious while being looked at for a long time.

But mostly, I just wanted to make sure he was here with me. That he was truly _looking _at me, that he wasn't vacantly watching his surroundings, unaware of what he was seeing. I resisted the urge to snap my fingers in front of his face. I knew I wouldn't be able to get his attention this way right now.

And then his eyes focused on mine and I could tell he was slowly coming out of his trance. Relief flooded my body as he spoke.

"Sure thing, Sage." He let go of my hand and moved towards the drawers that held his clothes at the other side of the room, talking to me all the while. "You know how much I love seeing you in my clothes."

"You do?" I muttered, disbelieving, flushed all of a sudden.

"You have no idea," he called over his shoulder, hunched as he was over his top drawer, probably still searching for a shirt. He sounded so normal again, he was making it hard to believe he'd been so distraught by spirit darkness a moment ago. I knew better than to assume it had simply gone away, though. It was still lurking in the depths of his mind, waiting to strike at any moment, given the chance. I swore to myself I wouldn't give it that chance. I'd somehow help him and we'd fight the darkness. Together.

He started to say something else, but then he found what he'd obviously been looking for. He got a shirt out of the drawer, then held it up for me to see.

Despite the dire situation, I couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of the oh-so-familiar pirate skeleton riding a motorbike, our fake sorority's name written accross the painted figures. It brought back the memories of us sitting on that floor, close by, him painting on shirt after shirt, me watching him work. I could remember, clear as day, our heated kiss, the way his hands had gripped me and brought be closer. I could remember him calling me his flame in the dark, and my heart still soared at the memory. I could remember the joy on his face, the radiant happiness that exuded from him while he painted, the calmness that had surrounded him as he moved his paintbrush back and forth in clean, purposeful strokes- and just like that, a brilliant idea struck me.

"Let's paint," I blurted out without thinking it through. That was a first.

He looked at me, completely bemused. "What?"

"I said, let's paint. I mean, after I put on the shirt." I added a shiver at the end of the sentence for extra emphasis.

"A- alright," he stuttered, thrown off by the abrupt change of topic.

I was as surprised as him by my mad suggestion, but the more I thought about it, the better it seemed to me. And it might be one of the few things that would help his state of mind right now.

"Now, give me that shirt and go... prepare... whatever you need. Brushes, canvases, you know. The whole nine yards."

"Can't I stay and watch while you change out of your clothes? You have no idea how helpful I can be on the undressing front."

Although he was smirking, his silky voice confident and cocky as ever, I could sense the underlying worry, the nervousness that shone in his eyes. The fear he felt at the mere thought of being left alone while he was like _this._

I couldn't do that to him, even though I felt strangely embarassed at the prospect of having to change clothes in front of him. Which was ridiculous. He had already seen me topless more times than I could count. In a weird, unexplainable way, this felt more intimate than him ridding me of my garments during a make-out session. Still, when our gazes locked, I conceded.

"Fine," I sighed. "But I need no help undressing myself. Give me the shirt and then turn your back to me."

"You're killing me," he whined, only half-joking as he walked over and handed me the shirt. He did, however, obediently turn his back without any more fuss.

I fumbled with the buttons on my own shirt for a while. My fingers were practically trembling with nervous excitement and pent up adrenaline. When, at last, I managed to undo them all, I heaved a sigh of contentment as I shrugged off the wet and cold material of my top.

"Are you done yet?", came Adrian's impatient voice from the other side of the room.

"Just a minute!" I called back as I quickly put on the dry blue shirt. It felt so nice on me, all soft and baggy. The characteristic scent of him enveloped me. I took a deep breath, the familiar smell of his cologne relaxing me instantly. "You can turn around."

He did. He stared at me for a long time before saying, "You look sexy like this."

I blushed, feeling thankful for the poor lighting of the room. I'd never get used to hearing Adrian say things like this, as much as I'd never get tired of it. His comments made me feel good, confident of myself in a way I hadn't experienced before him.

Instead of replying, I approached him and offered him my hand.

"Shall we go paint, my starving artist?", I said, gesturing towards the door.

His face darkened and his expression turned into what I recognized as a spirit plagued moment.

"Don't let go of my hand," he pleaded me. "Or else... they might grab me and take me away. You know, if they get a good hold of you, they will never let you go. Don't let go of my hand," he repeated. "Please."

My vision blurred with tears, but I nodded anyway. He looked so vulnerable, it made my heart ache. _I'll chase the darkness away, no matter what it takes_, I thought, determination running through me.

And this time, _I_ was the one who grabbed _his_ hand and pulled him out of the room.

* * *

"What are we going to paint, Sage?", he asked me, hunched over his art supplies as he was, sorting through his things and stashing easels and paints and paintbrushes next to him, while I was sitting on his couch cross-legged, watching him, trying to hide my worry about him as best as I could behind my expressionless Alchemist facade. He stood up suddenly, looking me over, and I could tell by his expression that an idea was forming in his head. One that I wouldn't like for sure. "Or... maybe you want to pose for a nude...?"

I gaped at him. My cheeks were flaming. So much for my expressionless facade. "Adrian!" I said as sternly as I could. "No! I- I won't! Why- why would you even suggest something like-" I paused as soon as I saw the full grin spreading accross his face.

"I was joking, you know. People do that sometimes. They joke," he said teasingly.

"I know," I replied, mortified. "I knew you were joking."

"Sure you did," he said and left it at that.

* * *

When everything was set, he motioned for me to stand up. I approached him, and we stood there for a while, staring at the blank canvas.

"You never answered my question," he said at last. "_What _are we going to paint?"

"We could paint love," I suggested, somewhat hesitantly.

He looked at me then, surprise dancing in his beautiful green eyes. "I thought you'd think of something less abstract than that. Something more practical. A still life."

"Well, no," I said, feeling weirdly offended by his reaction. "I was thinking we could recreate that painting you had made a few months ago. "Love", you had named it. Do you remember?"

"I do," he replied evenly. "Why recreate it though? Did you not like it the first time round?" He said the last part as if he was joking, but there was unmistakabe worry in his voice. As if I could ever dislike anything that had come from his hands.

"I was just wondering... that one was really intense. And love is intensity and desperation and fierceness and madness, but it's also softness and light and happiness. I' d like to paint that version of love. Wouldn' t you?"

"My God, you're so _romantic_ lately. Must be something in the water," he said. "Alright then, let's paint love." He was looking at me when he stepped forward, caught a strand of my hair and twirled it between his fingers. He murmured softly, almost inaudibly, "Softness and light and happiness. All these things and more."

And for the first time since I had arrived, it wasn't fear and wariness that seized me because of his spirit-induced ramblings. It was affection and tenderness and more. So much more.

And then, finally, we started painting.

Unexpectedly, it was intimate, seeing as we were pressed together so closely, bodies aligning perfectly, my back to his chest, my hand in his hand and in our joined hands a paintbrush.

He guided my hand on the canvas and it moved easily, in big, gentle strokes, the paintbrush leaving long streaks of color behind. I watched the movement, entranced.

Of course, his color of choice to depict love had been yellow. I could act as if I were exasperated all I wanted. I knew he could still see right through me, and know that it was warmth that had filled me up when he had announced, "Yellow. Calming and cheerful, just like our love," and then had insisted that no, there was no other reason behind his choice. Absolutely none. At all.

He was such a terrible liar.

As the canvas filled more and more, I realized there would be no black paint filling the scpace around the spot where love emerged this time. My heart raced in my chest.

I stared up at him and smiled.

Adrian noticed and smiled back.

I smiled wider.

So did he.

At that moment, his face was alight with happiness and calmness, and it was soothing to watch. He enveloped me in his arms from behind, letting me move my painbrush-clad hand on my own. His arms came around my waist and his chin came to rest on top of my head. My smile couldn't leave me if I tried. _Adrian was fine, Adrian was alright, Adrian was calm and sober and_ fine. My heart was expanding inside of my ribcage, there was no other explanation to the warm pressure spreading through me, to the feeling of my chest ready to burst with emotion.

I couldn't resist the urge that overtook me as suddenly as any other had tonight. The feelings that were flooding me needed a way out. I turned around in his arms, abandoning the creation of our "masterpiece in the making", as Adrian had called it, to press my lips to his. _God, how have I gone so long without kissing him?_, I mused dizzily as he replied to the kiss with fervor. All my anxiety, all my frustration, all my fear that I'd been keeping bottled up inside of me came rushing out in the form of the bruising pressure I put into that one kiss. It was hard and fast and hot and everything we both needed after being deprived of each other for the past few weeks. I let go of the paintbrush so I could tangle my hands in his hair. I distantly heard it clatter on the floor, but I was too distracted by Adrian's hands on my back, pressing me harder against him, to care.

The way kissing between us worked was always the same: absurd and wonderful. Our surroundings disappeared one by one, until I was aware of nothing but the places where our bodies touched. Our hands, our chests, our lips, these became the center of the universe. It was thrilling. It excited me beyond anything else. Just this. This was all I needed. My arms around his neck, my hands buried in his hair, his arms gripping my waist, mouths moving together, communicating without voicing anything.

When we pulled apart to breathe, foreheads knocking together, I smiled tentatively at him, and then asked him the question that had been burning at the tip of my tongue.

"Are you okay?"

"Now I am," he replied, then he laughed, a soft, relieved, endearing sound. "Now I am."

I leaned up to kiss him again, and this time it wasn't desperate. It was sweet, loving. He was smiling, too, once it was over. He pulled me to him and I let myself revel in his proximity.

"Maybe I just needed some sexual healing, after all," he said, and even though I couldn't see his face, I could practically hear him smiling as he spoke. The teasing edge took a softer quality as he kept talking. "Seriously, though. Thank you." His arms tightened around me. "Oh, God, Sydney, if you weren't here tonight... if you hadn't come, I might have-"

I shushed him with urgency. I didn't want to hear him say it out loud. _I might have gone mad. _Instead, I pulled back to look him in the eyes. His beautiful, emerald eyes, that I adored so much. "Adrian. My Adrian. It's what we do, remember? We chase away the shadows around each other. You needed me. I was here for you. Just like you would have been if it had been me."

"I love you," he said, and it was all I needed to hear.

* * *

He insisted that it was too late to go back now. It would be for the best if I just spent the night there. Even if you get there, how are you planning to reach your dorm room?, he'd told me, and I was all too eager to comply. Who was I to doubt such solid reasoning, after all?

I would have to lie to Zoe, of course. Keeping so many things from her was really starting to wear me out, but I couldn't tell her anything yet. I loved my sister and hated keeping so many things from her. Someday, I vowed to myself, once it was safe for everyone involved, I'd tell her everything. Until then, a lie about tonight's events would have to suffice. I'd probably tell her that something had occured very early in the morning and I had to take care of it. I just hoped that she wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night only to find out I was missing. That was bound not to go well.

I pulled off my jeans and looked down at myself. Adrian's shirt was so big on me it actually reached me mid-thigh. The knee socks I had on would be sufficiently warm for my legs. I crawled into his bed and pulled the covers over me. I inhaled the smell of him, surrounding me from everywhere, overwhelming my senses. I sighed contentedly. I hadn't felt this comfortable in months.

Adrian came out of the bathroom wearing, unsurprisingly, a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing else.

"That's all you usually wear to bed?" I asked him curiously.

He shrugged, as if to say, "what did you expect?", as he slipped under the covers and lay next to me.

"You might catch a cold," I told him, trying to bite back a smile. I really hadn't expected anything different.

"Then you'll just have to heal me. Nurse Sage on it again," he said, and I didn't even bother trying to hide my smile this time.

I snuggled closer to him and he wrapped his arms around me. I traced patterns with my fingertips on his bare chest lazily, sleepily. Now that the fear and adrenaline had worn off, it was harder and harder to keep my eyes open. Adrian's movements seemed slower too, more relaxed than they'd been before, and I knew he was fighting off sleep, as well.

"Do you... do you think we can last?" I asked him suddenly. "What we have now... do you ever wonder how long it's going to last before something shatters it?" I felt Adrian stiffen beneath me. Where had that come from? It must have been the lack of sleep, breaking down my normal inhibitions, I decided. Now that I'd said it out loud, I desperately wanted to take it back. It had come out ungrateful. Inconsiderate. As if I didn't believe in us.

"Sydney-"

"Forget it," I mumbled, embarassed.

"No, I won't. Is that what you think?", he asked softly. Instead of replying, I buried my head in the crook of his neck, trying to hide the unexpected tears in my eyes. "Hey. Look at me," he said, the gentle command in his voice causing me to lift my head. He kissed both of my tear- streaked cheeks and then looked at me tenderly for a moment, before speaking.

"I love you. You know that. And I know that you love me, too. Don't you?"

I nodded my head miserably. "So much."

"As long as we love each other, no hardship, no difficulty, nothing can tear us apart. And I don't plan on stopping loving you any time soon. Actually, screw that. I know that I will never stop loving you."

"Neither will I," I said fervently. I wasn't one for grand declarations of love, but I felt the truth of what I had just said to my bones. It wasn't a declaration. It was a fact. And if I knew one thing I could deal with for sure, it was facts.

"Everything else we might come accross," he kept on talking, "we can face. I believe that. We will last for so many years, that someday you'll grow tired of seeing my face on the pillow next to yours every time you wake up. That's how long we're gonna last." He looked at me expectantly, but the lump in my throat wouldn't let me talk. I was never good with words, anyway. So I simply leaned down and kissed him with all my might. My Adrian, who knew how to make me feel better anytime. Who I loved.

"Let's sleep," I said once we pulled apart, voice hoarse and riddled with sleepiness. He simply nodded, and I nestled against his chest. I fell asleep this way, with Adrian softly stroking my hair and lulling me to sleep, limbs tangled together until you couldn't make out which one belonged to who, until we weren't the Alchemist girl who fell in love with the Moroi boy anymore, but two people who shared an amazing love, whose souls spoke to one another, who understood each other perfectly.

Two separate entities who made something greater of themselves when they were united.

At that moment, this was us.


End file.
